Wills and Wants
by CampionSayn
Summary: The bridges between them are being rebuilt from the ones they've torched and burned to the ground, but slowly. Very slowly. One-shot. Rated for mentioned nudity.


Title: Wills and Wants  
Summary: The bridges between them are being rebuilt from the ones they've torched and burned to the ground, but slowly. Very slowly. One-shot.  
Disclaimer: I laugh. Ownership of the Batman series? No.  
Warning: This has hints to both UtRH and Court of the Owls, and there is swearing. Not much else, other than a mention of nudity as applied to a pornographic magazine article.  
Dedication: To _**My Sister's Wife**_. Her birthday is something I'm still not quite accustomed to celebrating, but this might make her happy so here we get.

* * *

_-:-  
And he hadn't changed in the slightest.  
-Mrs. Dalloway._

* * *

The ceiling is falling in little bits and pieces of white plaster onto the burgundy colored carpet in the living room and the bed Bruce can see out of the corner of his eye through the opposite door beside the pathetic (_he doesn't mean to seem pompous in this thought, but it's just about the size of a cell with only a sink, table, tiny-tiny oven and a fridge that seemed barely bigger than a locker in high school_) kitchen of the apartment is untidy and unmade. The smell of cloves, nicotine and some sort of smoking incense (_it mixes with the cologne Bruce caught scent of for the first time two years ago when Jason re-emerged into Bruce's awareness, so he can't tell if it's all 'Summer Sun' or 'Dragon's Blood'_) entered Bruce's nose, so he quickly knew that his second son had gone back to smoking those horrendous cigarettes.

The place had a very Punk Shui look about it, but Bruce put away his general feelings towards untidiness to move swiftly and surely to the kitchen where Jason was at present making coffee and reheating old brownies (_he'd looked in the fridge two nights ago when scoping the place out, in full Batman regalia, just in case Jason was sleeping and woke up and felt the urge to attack him with that knife kept at his left hip_) Bruce was sure the young man had bought from a Mom'n'Pop store. Jason had retained all of his training since coming back into his life—with a few tricks of his own—so there was no doubt that the brunette knew Bruce was there the moment he popped the lock on the front door.

He stepped into the kitchen to find his son, indeed, crouching on the counter next to the sink with a very cat-like demeanor and a white stick in his mouth, plumes of smoke wafting into the out and out of the cracked window into the late afternoon air. The coffee pot sat atop a little oven pad (_a square of angry bitch red polyester with black Dalmatian spots decorating it_) in case it leaked, the electric outlet sticking out of its end and into the socket in the wall in sharp contrast to the very clear-mist steam rising from the spout of the fat plastic-mesh pot.

"Something you want, old man?"

One hand remained in the pocket of his designer label black pants (_very contrast to the grey sweatpants Bruce had no doubt Jason had been wearing for three days straight for lack of any other clean laundry_) as Bruce leaned over like a Bumblebee Hummingbird to take the cigarette from Jason and toss it out the window before he would even entertain the thought of answering.

The cigarette made it through the crevice of the window and left a sparkling orange trail of heated tobacco before turning to grey ash as it made for the alley outside three floors downward. Bruce and Jason had no doubt that it would land in one of the many accumulating puddles that had started developing three hours before Bruce entertained and then conceded to the idea of visiting the Red Hood in his own domicile.

"I wanted to see if perhaps you'd like to come to a family dinner out tonight. Tim, Dick and Damian have stated that after the incident with the Owls, it would be good to do something like this to lessen the stress and tension of the past few months."

Jason retained a look of annoyance at having a barely started cigarette wasted and disposed of at the hands of the Batman, but an eyebrow quirked at him and Bruce was left with a morbid divination of something coming out of the young man's mouth that would make Bruce wish he had forgone coming to see him.

"Alfie put you up to this, right?"

Divination proven correct. Bruce knew that those lessons he'd gotten from Zatanna, Jason Blood and Doctor Fate would pay off eventually. Granted, this was not the sort of circumstance he would have liked for such abilities to be made available to him by a higher power, but whatever.

He gave the appearance of being in control (he knew Jason hated that, but to each his own) as Jason hopped from his perch and away from the very tall man into his living room. He appeared to be looking about for something, but still paid attention to the man as Bruce answered.

"Not exactly. Alfred suggested that on his night off the family should spend time together, but I came over here of my own free will."

Jason nodded to himself, smug smile in place as he seemed to find what he was looking for in a pornographic magazine he pulled out from under the cushion of his sofa (_low seated, tan as a broken skinned rocking horse in some Victorian novel, two zebra striped throw pillows on the end facing the front door crushed as though they were constantly used to sleep on_). He plopped onto the sofa and opened up the porno (_purple cover on the back like the colors a pimp would wear and the front cover ripped off to give Bruce a blush-inducing peek at a dark-skinned woman with simple B-sized breasts in a styled pose reminiscent of a 50's pinup for black and white_) to give the impression that he was ignoring Bruce, but spoke despite all of that.

"So you came because Alfred coerced you. You didn't REALLY come of your own volition—you came out of guilt to appease your conscience."

"Jason," Bruce groaned, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, "It's free food and drink. Do you want to go or not?"

Jason flicked to another page of the magazine (_two men no older than Jason—if that—in the midst of a heated kiss, one almost the spitting image for Conner Kent—if not for the freckles and pumpkin spice hair—and the other a running mate for Bruce's third Robin; an image to cause Bruce's hackles to rise at the image of them, not only kissing, but performing mutual masturbation_), but was good enough to look over the top end of the porno to give Bruce a look. The same look that often got Bruce to whack him on the back of the head when he was training him just after puberty before he did something rather stupid.

"You can't cook. Dicky-bird can't cook. The demon spawn blew up your toaster while making a pop-tart. The replacement is so health-conscious that all he'll make is soup and tofu. This little get-together will take place in some fancy, five-star restaurant, I assume?"

"….No."

Jason folded the magazine at that, blinking Atlantis green eyes at the giant of a man standing not quite against the doorframe of the kitchen. He looked quite uncomfortable, which was fine to Jason, but still, a more detailed answer would be nice.

"No?"

Bruce frowned and eyed a spot on the ceiling that looked a bit like a bunny-rabbit if the ceiling continued to crack along the center beams that held the roof up and kept it from caving inwards like the route into Wonderland, "As it seems, in my absence Dick got Damian hooked on this little out of the way place near the river. Margourd Leoude, I think."

Jason dropped the magazine on the little coffee table before the couch (_swayed to the left side, all pressure on those little black wood legs, blue metal top almost beautiful with the graffiti painted on it with house and spray paint by delinquents before Jason had rescued it from some abandoned swimming pool at the heart of squatter central two weeks before_) and the condescending nature of his own self evaporated at the name of the restaurant offered.

"Owned by Jeremy Ellis and Sarah Larkin; nice choice for a place so new," the Red Hood muttered, going back into the kitchen to unplug the coffee pot so it would stop whistling and Bruce gave him a contemplative look (_Bruce had a thought that maybe it was one of those places that Jason went out of his way to protect from dealers and such for the sake of the people and not for himself_), "Mostly based in Italian, Greek and Russian with a few American choices to keep the kiddies happy while the parents enjoy themselves."

"So, you've been there," Bruce stated, mouth not able to smile like a normal human being, but better a smirk than nothing at all, "Will you go there with us tonight?"

Jason emptied some of his coffee (_smelled like White Cloud tea, but had a strong honey intoned scent, very tasteful_) into a cup that looked rather like Aladdin's lamp, and waved a hand up and down before his figure, "I can't go in clothes that hasn't seen the washing machine in days. And that's really not the place to where sweatpants and green plaid."

"I have fresh pants in the car, just put on a proper shirt."

Jason almost choked on his drink at that, one bare foot slamming against the side of the kitchen archway so hard he could have cracked it, but instead nearly dropped his cup to grasp the appendage and swear under his breath. Bruce took the cup when Jason bowed down to grasp the cold foot (_he never did wear socks, even when he was young and hadn't grown out of it, as it seemed_), repressing a pleased grin at his scoundrel son's misery.

"…Stupid, fucking…You have pants in your car?" Jason finally gasped, limping back into the living room and onto the sofa (_the breeze of his movement causing the pornographic magazine to roll over another paper—a bleached white haired man with white stubble along the jawline and an eye-patch in a lotus positioned embrace with a wavy, ebony haired brunette young man who was…salivating on the much older man's left shoulder_) to take pressure from standing, "Do you know how much that makes you sound like a perv?"

Bruce spun on his heel and made for the door, "Put on a different shirt. I'll be back with the pants in a few minutes. They're black slacks and they're tailored to fit you, so shut up, get dressed and enjoy getting food that doesn't come from a frozen dinner box or a can."

When the door shut behind the Dark Knight, Jason stuck his tongue out and flipped him off out of sight.

Still, he supposed that going out with the Golden Boy, the Replacement, the Demon Spawn and the old man would give Jason the opportunity to make Bruce _quietly_ miserable, so he supposed he could change his shirt from the plaid to a sold jet-black…


End file.
